


This Is a Love Song (In My Own Way)

by alwaysamy



Series: End!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysamy/pseuds/alwaysamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel walks in on Dean at an inopportune moment. Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is a Love Song (In My Own Way)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a loosely connected End!verse series featuring the evolution of Dean and Castiel's relationship. This story takes place sometime after 5.01 and before 5.04. Title from the Fall Out Boy song "Bang the Doldrums." Sorry, Dean.

Castiel appears with a soft beat of wings just as Dean's pulling his dick out of his boxer briefs, and he snags a pube with his ring accidentally. He winces and sits up, arches an eyebrow at Cas. "Dude, sometimes you really need to knock."

Cas tips his head sideways, narrows his eyes. "But then I would have to appear outside the door, where people might observe me."

"It's a meta -- You know what, never mind." Dean shakes his head and gingerly rearranges himself. Count on Cas to show up just when Dean's got Sam situated in the library with a couple of hours of research to do. "So? What's the what, dude? I was a little busy, you know?"

For once, Castiel looks away before he speaks, and if Dean's not mistaken, there's color in his cheeks. "What were you doing?" His head whips back suddenly, his gaze sharp again. "Are you ... injured?"

Dean catches one toe on the jeans he left puddled on the floor and nearly topples over. "No! Jesus. Don't even say that." He shudders and scrubs a hand over his face. "I guess you never need to, uh, clean the pipes, huh?"

Cas frowns. "What do pipes have to do with ... that?"

Sonofabitch. This is _not_ in his contract, he's willing to bet folding money on that. Destiny or not, giving an angel Sex Ed 101 cannot be part of the deal. "Metaphor, Cas. Look it up."

"I am aware of the meaning of metaphor, Dean." He somehow manages to sound both offended and coolly disinterested, which is quite a feat. But he's also still staring, at Dean's crotch no less, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Look, it's a sex thing, okay?" Dean spreads his hands helplessly. "When you're not getting any elsewhere, sometimes you need to relieve a little of the tension. Get it?"

God, he hopes Cas gets it. And then beats a hasty retreat, even if it is in horrified angel modesty.

When he chances a look at Castiel's face, Cas is actually blushing, deep pink across his cheekbones and his throat. "Oh. I am aware of the function of masturbation, but I had not given it thought. I ..." He swallows, and Dean half expects him to disappear without another word.

Instead, he stands there, hands clenched into fists, and Dean can practically feel him vibrating from ten feet away. With curiosity? Outrage? Disappointment? It's impossible to tell with Cas, and he's not about to ask, it's none of his business, just like Dean spanking the monkey once in a while is none of Castiel's business.

Which is why it's shocking to hear his own voice in the stillness, a little hoarse, huskier than usual. "Have you ever? Do you ... need to?"

"Angels don't need to do the things humans do, Dean."

Dean knows that, but it doesn't explain why Cas is still here, nearly trembling with _something_ he's feeling, his jaw clenched harder than usual.

"Need and want are different things, Cas," he says, and takes a step forward. Closer. He doesn't even know where he's going with this, but the tension is electric, making the air heavy and too hot. He was already on edge when Cas showed up, tired of quick and dirty jerking off in the shower once in a while, and he hasn't gotten laid in weeks.

And, okay, he's tired of the way Cas looks at him. Or the way he's possibly _imagining_ Cas looks at him, true, but he's never going to find out if he doesn't make a move. Either way, he's really fucking tired of looking at Cas and the bone-deep ache of wanting that comes with it.

"Do you want?" He takes another step, then another, and if he reached out now, he could almost touch Cas.

Cas doesn't blink. His eyes are hot blue, like the heart of a flame. "I ... do. Show me?"

Show him? Fuck. Heat licks through Dean's gut and he takes a shuddering breath. He can feel his cock filling, twitching. "You want to see?" He pushes his briefs just far enough down his hips to let the waistband snag below his balls as he curls his fingers around his dick. It's flushed and heavy in his hand, and he runs his thumb over the slit slowly, where it's already wet.

Cas makes a low noise deep in his throat, and Dean can't look away from his eyes, even as he starts to stroke. Can't stop his mouth, either, not that he's really trying. "Feels good, really good."

"Dean." Cas sounds broken, unreal, and Dean's knees wobble as he pumps harder, faster. The sound of his name, in Cas's ragged voice, echoes through him, but it's the way Cas is watching, the weight of his gaze as real as a touch, that's almost unbearably exciting.

"You like seeing this?" He sounds broken, too, words little more than husks in the silence. "Is it making you hard?"

Cas nods, and Dean can see the shape of Cas's erection through his trousers, a thick, solid length. His knees threaten to give out then, and he goes down on them before he falls, panting, still working his cock furiously. "Cas ..."

Cas shrugs off his trench coat recklessly, letting it flutter to the floor behind him, and goes down on his knees, too. His belt buckle rattles as he opens it, zipper hissing on its track a moment later. He's closer now, so close Dean can see the way his mouth is trembling as he reaches into his boxers and pulls out his dick.

It's nothing like Dean's fantasies -- it's better. It's honest and raw and right now, and they're not even touching, but it doesn't matter. Even in his T-shirt, his briefs cutting into his thighs, he's never felt more naked.

"That's it," he says as Cas starts to stroke himself, tentatively at first, learning the shape and the weight of his dick. His eyes are wild, his mouth is open, and he's starting to shake, and Dean can't even imagine what that's like now, feeling all that rushing heat for the first time.

He reaches down to grab at his tight, hot balls, pulling at them to hold off, slowing his hand on his own dick as Cas starts to speed up. "Like that, yeah," he says, and he wonders if Cas can even hear him. "Keep going, Cas, just like that, so good."

Cas makes another noise, a sort of strangled grunt, and Dean groans. "Yeah, it's coming, just let it," he says, and picks up speed again, rough and not wet enough, but he doesn't care, he's going to come, he _wants_ to come, fuck, he's so close now, thighs and belly tingling with it.

Cas looks like pure porn, half dressed, tie loose, his hand flying on his cock, the swollen head appearing and disappearing in the circle of his fist as it moves up and down. He's never seen Cas this wild, all that stiff dignity shed with his coat, and it's the hottest thing Dean has ever seen in a lifetime of seeking out hot things to look at.

"Gonna feel so good, come on, let go," he murmurs, and he sees it when Cas breaks, the abrupt jerk as he nearly doubles over, the rough shudder as he drags in a breath and starts to spill.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, like that, there you go," he manages, eyes fixed on the wet mess of spunk dripping off Cas's fingers. Then he's coming, too, orgasm pushing up out of him violently, and he grunts it out, shooting thick and hot.

Cas is panting, ass on his heels now, his hand held out in front of him as he examines it. "I ..."

He doesn't finish, just looks up at Dean again, completely wrecked, shocked, and Dean lets go of his dick with one last smoothing stroke as he shuffles closer. He takes Cas's hand and brings it to his mouth, licking up the salty mess, tongue working in between each finger, the smooth surface of his palm, the delicate knob of his wrist bone.

It's so hot, thick and clinging on his tongue, and when he's done he looks up, waiting. This is ... he doesn't even know what this is now. He wants to lay Cas out on the floor, crawl over him, inside him, taste him everywhere, and it's a little frightening, this clawing, animal need when he just came like a frigging freight train. He doesn't know what Cas wants, what he thinks of this, and he doesn't want to fuck it up, it's fucked up enough already, the two of them jacking off together like fumbling teenagers.

He lets Cas's hand drop gently, and he's about to move away, get up, something, anything to break the really awkward fucking silence, when Cas grabs his hand, the wet, sticky one. "Dean," he says, and it doesn't mean anything, really, except Dean can hear so much in the single word: amazement, awe, relief, curiosity. His dick twitches against his thigh when Cas opens his mouth and sucks one finger inside, and there's nothing tentative about the way he does it.

He takes his time, and Dean drops back on his heels, too, resting his thighs while Cas cleans his hand, alternating kitten licks with the kind of purposeful sucking that nearly makes Dean hard all over again. When Cas is done, he twines their fingers for a second in a brief squeeze. He lets go just as Dean is thinking, _Yeah, he's going to lean in, he's actually going to kiss me, this isn't over,_ and then he's gone.

The trench coat is still lying on the worn carpet, forgotten. When Dean can finally get up, pulling up his briefs and straightening his shirt, he picks it up and folds it carefully before he lays it over the chair by the window.

If nothing else, he knows Cas'll come back for that. And for now, that has to be enough.


End file.
